Homecoming Queen
by inherit-absence-of-light
Summary: a sonfic based on the song 'homecoming queen' by Hinder. the teams thoughts and actions as they attend Emily's funeral.


**Note:**** hey guys, I found a hinder CD case in the car today, and was fooling around with the lyric booklet when this idea planted itself firmly in my head. Pretty much just everyone's thoughts and feelings at Prentiss' funeral. Also, this was written as a oneshot, but if people like it, I could continue it, possibly charting Emily's journey back to the BAU and to her family? I don't know, but I'm drowning in my own ideas! Enjoy. **

**Disclaimer: if there is a god, or a santa, or if santa **_**is**_** god, then truly my pleas for it all to be mine should be answered. But until then, I give you this. Without further ado...**

**HOMECOMING QUEEN**

_It's been 5 years since I've seen her face_

_She's the holy ghost lost without a trace, _

_And now we're left with the what-if's._...

Derek Morgan had a trust issue. It was now an ever present burden, stemming from the trust betrayed so long ago by Carl Buford. Apparently, unbeknownst to Derek and the rest of his mourning team, Emily Prentiss had lived with one too. She had kept maybe the one thing that could save her from the people who could. She may have done some horrid things, and Derek hadn't liked it, but he had come to realize that she had done it at first, for the sake of her career, then later, to protect Declan Doyle from his monster of a father. It had taken Morgan the loss of his teammate, colleague, and friend to realize that maybe, just maybe, not everyone was like Carl. Maybe he could afford to trust more openly. After all, Emily hadn't, and it had been that lack of reliance that had cost her life, putting him where he now stood, helping to carry a casket housing a woman who could have trusted him.

_It's been 5 years since she left for LA, _

_She's an angel with a dirty face, _

_and it seems to me, she's a casualty,_

_of all the pressure, that we put on her,_

_and now we've lost her for good..._

Spencer Reid had an abandonment issue. When he was 10, his father left him. 15 years later, he was saddened by the departure of Elle Greenaway. Further still, that same year, he struggled with the abrupt exit of Jason Gideon, his mentor, teacher, confidant, the one person who might have been right to leave, the reason he stood here today. With his BAU family. Could it be, he wondered, that, had one less person left him, he could be here right now, carrying _her_ coffin, without this sick feeling, worse than his now ever present, splitting headaches,(the headaches no living person were aware of) that left the quirky, talkative genius without words. His immense intellect led everyone to overlook a young man who, though different, felt the same emotions as everyone else. But his mind had its own way of keeping those feelings from people. Only in times of deep trouble did he show anything at all. The team had broken off into pairs, helping their partners cope with the loss of Prentiss. Derek and Garcia, no shock there. Though she was no longer one of their own, Hotch had embraced JJ. Possibly the most odd were Rossi and Seaver. But where did that leave him? Alone. With nothing to say. Only embarrassing tears shed for one more family member, gone, with so much less than a goodbye.

_It's such a shame shame shame,_

_that our homecoming queen, _

_was a lot like you and a lot like me, _

_she never walked on water, _

_guess no one really saw her..._

David Rossi had been to too many funerals in his career. He tried not to let that bother him, him being the less emotionally attached one, the calm, experienced agent, only gaining more wisdom with age. But there was only a small amount of feeling he could possibly escape. The only issue with the unit's new team dynamic. One could only work in such a close vicinity with people, have these people's lives in your hands over and over again, before you find you have things in common, before you grow an indescribable bond, become attached to people. So here he stood, holding a flower in one hand, remembering personal secrets that she had revealed only to him, undergoing an abortion at 15, of not fitting in. A solitary tear flowed down his aging cheek, a reaction he simply couldn't hold back. After all, Dave Rossi was only human.

_She was so adored by everyone, _

_when it came to looks she was next to none, _

_but love partying and having too much fun_

_then she hooked up with the wrong someone... _

Penelope Garcia didn't want to be here. No, much rather would she like to curl up in her colorful apartment, reminiscing in old memories, happier times. But, like everyone here, this would provide, if not a semblance of closure, a new motivation to finish a war that had started almost seven years before. Back then it wasn't their battle. Maybe it was a losing one. Penelope didn't know, but she did know this; she would hold onto her remaining family with an iron grip as they fought, BAU vs. Valhalla. She also knew that the last words she spoke to Emily, words that received no reply, played like a record in her head. _Hey it's me, Hotch asked my to try all of your old numbers...if it is you and you can hear me come home please. God, Emily, what did you think we would just let you walk out of our lives?...so furious right now...how scared you must be...not alone...we are waving flashlights and calling your name so If you can see us, come home...stay alive because we're coming for you. _As she thought about it, Garcia found herself wondering who had failed. And through the constant flow of tears, considered the possibilities. Was she here today because, Emily hadn't stayed alive, or because they simply hadn't kept their promise, hadn't come for her on time?

_And he promised everything under the sun_

_and it seems to me_, _she's a casualty,_

_of all the pressure, that we put on her,_

_and now we've lost her for good..._

_It's such a shame shame shame, _

_that our homecoming queen,_

_was a lot like you and a lot like me,_

_she never walked on water,_

_cause no one really saw her..._

Jennifer Jareau was a good liar. Here she was, placing a flower on her nations flag, draped across an empty coffin, watching it being lowered into the ground in front of an unnecessary headstone. _Emily prentiss,_ it read, _march 12, 1970 -March 7, 2011. _The latter date a ruse to fuel the belief of the very people she was not supposed to keep things from. Her family. The tears that fell from her eyes as the pastor presented his sermon were those brought by an immense feeling of guilt, not of despair or loss, not like those of the others. This feeling, it was eating at her. It had her questioning everything she had thought she knew. But yet, if she looked away from her grieving friends, out into the setting sun, she could almost feel herself begin to believe her own lie. But then she would be forced to turn, see the heart breaking expressions in front of her, and she would remember that she was the cause of their pain, that it wasn't warranted. She remembered holding Spencer, as he wept like a child for goodbyes gone unsaid. Stopping him from fleeing the room, and holding him as he cried, knowing that there could possibly be a chance for real goodbyes in the future. She knew that the only way to fool these people, these profilers, was to believe the lie herself. But she was shocked at how easy it had become for her to do so. What did that say of her? Was she losing herself? No longer being affected by things as she had always feared? After all, this wasn't some tall tale, a murder story she was determined to convince Derek was the reason she so disliked the woods. This was a matter of life and death, no pun intended. She sighed as she realized she was in too deep to turn back now. She left for Paris to relay the plan to Emily in the morning, and after that, all she could do was believe. She had to be strong, to do this. After all. Emily had done this for Declan, they owed her the same courtesy.

_Shames shame shame _

_that our homecoming queen _

_had a lot to prove and so many to please_

_she's just somebody's daughter _

_looking for somebody to love her..._

Ambassador Prentiss supposed she wasn't supposed to be here. Not at her daughter's funeral. She wished with all of her heart that it was Emily sitting here, alive, listening to a sermon about her mother. That was how it as supposed to be. Her expression was stony as she remembered her Emily, beautiful, charming, and sarcastic. Fiery and argumentative. Striving and secretive. She had always been a people pleaser, but hadn't like to give up until she got her own way either. Always trying to prove, to herself and to others, that she could do her job. Though it wasn't a job the ambassador thought highly of, it was important, and gave her daughter the ability to help people, just like she had always wanted. Her relationship with Emily hadn't been good. They didn't speak much, and when they did they just addressed each other with cold familiarities. How she wished things had turned out differently. She turned to face the stone that would forever mark the resting place of her only child, reading the simple inscription reserved for fallen heroes. Fidelity, yes. Bravery, of course. Integrity, more than enough. After all, she was Emily. It pained her to think she would never again hear her sarcastic snort of laughter. After all, she was Emily. And, she was dead.

_Well I never knew you,_

_wish I could have saved you,_

_from losers that drained you,_

_before you got strung out,_

_with so much potential,_

_how could you let us down?_

Aaron Hotchner was torn. Torn between the promise he made to Clyde Easter, to keep Emily safe no matter what, and the unspoken promise he had made to himself and to his team, the one entailing trusting each other, not withholding information, not lying. One promise was broken, the seemingly important one remained intact. But what about the latter promise, the one that was important to him? The promise he personally valued, wished to uphold? But as he looked at his sorrowful team, he realized that he was the reason they were hurting, not rejoicing in the reality that they had won, Emily would live to see another day. Of course, this would all be resolved when Doyle was found and executed, but what kind of boss was he to prolong their suffering? What did it say about him that instead of compromising one to save the many, he was compromising the many to protect one? Could this not be considered as a minimal loss situation? And as he looked at the team, he could see it. He was losing them. How was he supposed to just sit back and let this happen? To pretend he was mourning too? Sure, he was plenty good at lying to an Unsub, but these people were profilers, his family. The lie had been in the works for only a short time, and Aaron was already exhausted. How was he supposed to keep this up? He ran a hand over his face's permanent grimace, pondering his many questions, knowing there wasn't anyone he could trust to answer then anymore. He remembered years ago, when he profiled his own team in front of Erin Strauss, the devil herself. His own voice echoed in his mind. '_Everyday Agent Jareau fields dozens of requests for our team. And every night she goes home, hoping she made the right choices.' _

Now it was his turn.

_it's such a shame, shame, shame, _

_that our homecoming queen,_

_was a lot like you and a lot like me, _

_she never walked on water, _

_cause no one really saw her,_

_shame, shame, shame, _

_that our homecoming queen,_

_had a lot to prove and so many to please,_

_she's just somebody's daughter,_

_for somebody to love her._

_She's just somebody's daughter, _

_looking for somebody to love her._

Emily Prentiss sat in a nondescript Paris hotel room, living under a temporary alias she hadn't bothered learning. The words Derek had spoken to her before she 'died' wouldn't leave her mind. She kept trying to tell herself he had meant it. Oh how she wished she had trusted them. She lowered herself down the bathroom wall, put her head between her knees, and as the tears began to flow, so did the self hatred and pity. After a while, she began to think straight again, the odd tear making its way down her cheek as she remembered that the team would probably be at her funeral right about now. JJ had said it was happening today, the last time they had spoken. Emily rubbed the clover shaped scar on her chest through her shirt. It's pain had reduced to a small throb. She thought of Declan. The little boy who had stolen her heart. She thought of Ian. He had loved her back then, back when she was Lauren Reynolds. She thought of her team. They had loved her for the last 5 years. The question was, would they still do so when the time came for her to go home? 


End file.
